Seasons of Glee
by vine
Summary: Rachel never gave much thought to her surrogate mother. Now the woman is dead, and she wishes she had. If she had just asked her dads more questions, maybe she would have known she had a twin.
1. Mama Who Bore Me

A/N: I had to try. Please don't hate me.

AU, high school style for Spring Awakening. Almost-canon for Glee, beginning right after Episode 1. This is completely experimental, and also, for the majority, unedited. But I thought, since I was so itching to try out a Spring Awakening hig school AU, might as well cross it over, too.

Hope you like, and thanks for reading!

* * *

Rachel Berry is a mature girl. But she is still a teenager. And all teenagers fight with their parents.

Though most don't use diva walkouts to end the argument.

This disagreement hasn't quite reached that stage yet.

"I cannot believe you!"

"Rachel," her Dad certainly looks like he regrets something. "You know that we both-"

"You could have told me!"

Time for Daddy to give it a try. "Legally, we couldn't even see her-"

"That doesn't mean I can't know!"

She doesn't want to hear any more excuses. Before either of her dads can open their mouths, she has stormed out. A moment later, they can hear her door slam shut.

Dad slumps into an armchair. "That could have gone better."

Daddy puts an arm around him. "She's just hurt. She'll be fine soon. You know how she is."

Upstairs, Rachel stares at the picture of her and her two dads in front of a poster of Wicked, taken when they had gone to the show during their stay in New York. She was seven at the time, and the grin on her face couldn't have been bigger. That show had made her feel as if she really could just fly away. No matter what anyone else said.

"Did you look like me?" she whispers. "Did you have my nose, my voice?"

But her unknown mother isn't really the most important person on her mind. No, her mind is still turning with the information that her dads have just told her. The startling fact that her surrogate mother had passed away in a car crash, less than three weeks ago. But even more important is that her daughter is going to come live with them.

Her daughter.

Rachel's twin.

Head spinning, she closes her eyes, and lets the tears spill over. How could they keep this from her? She has a right to know about her own twin! And now, at fifteen, she is going to meet her for the first time. Would she like to sing, like Rachel? Would she refuse to eat eggs with anything but ketchup, like Rachel?

All Rachel knows is that they are identical twins- identical! And that the girl's name is Wendla Bergmann. And she is moving in next Friday. Seven days from now.

She might just be ill.

Wendla spends the weekend locked in her old room, pretending to pack while she bites back tears.

It's been three weeks since the car accident took her parents' lives, and all she has to show for it is a broken arm and a nasty scar down one side of her chest. Everyone says she's lucky, but she doesn't feel it. If she was lucky, she wouldn't be packing to move three towns away, far from her friends, the only support she has left. She would still have parents, if she was lucky.

Wendla hates this room now. She hasn't stayed in it since the night before the accident. At first, she was waiting to be discharged from the hospital, and after that, she had lived with Anna. This house is too empty now, too full of the memories of things that will never happen again.

One small thing that she can pretend to look forward to is her godfamily. She has never met them- really, she didn't even know about them until after her parents had died- but she talked to Mark on the phone, and he seemed nice, and kind, and very, very gentle. The idea of staying with a gay couple had frightened her a tiny bit at first, but after the first moment, she almost laughed. Though her father was more old fashioned, her mother had raised her daughter to be open minded about all kinds of different lifestyles. No, it isn't the idea of gay fathers that scares her.

It is the change that frightens her more than anything. She can hardly get through a few hours without being reminded of her parents and bursting into silent tears. And now, she has to go to a new school, where she won't know anyone, won't fit in...

And then there is her twin. What a terrifying notion. She has a twin. She has a twin, and nobody bothered to tell her.

She puts a hand to her chest with a frown. Maybe, just maybe, this twin of hers could help fill in the hole that is left there, threatening to eat her up.

By Monday, all she wants to take with her is packed up. All of her parents' things will be put into storage for when she wants it. It is all hers, now. Hers to lock away and try to forget.

She goes to school, though she doesn't have to. Just to say goodbye. There are four girls in particular, close as blood, forever friends. She spends one night at each of their houses, and on the Thursday night, they all gather at Anna's, to wish her good luck, and hug and cry and promise to visit as much as they can. Even Thea cries, brave little Thea who is always trying to prove that she's tougher than she looks. None of them sleep much, because this night is for talking. Memories of brighter things.

The next morning, everything is already packed in the car. Most of her stuff is being brought by movers tomorrow, but all of her important things have been carefully fit into the back of Anna's father's truck. All the girls are crying again, and Anna says she's coming for the three hour drive, and who cares about school.

The closer to her new home they get, the quieter Wendla is. Anna just holds her tight.

Everything is moving too fast, just like the car that shrieked around the corner and didn't hit the breaks. Anna's only response to Wendla's tears is to hold her tight, humming a song they used to know.

"I believe, I believe, I believe, oh I believe, there is love in heaven..."

The house is bigger than her old one. She stands at the door, awkwardly clutching her suitcase as Anna's dad rings the door bell.

A tall, smiling black man answers, and when his eyes fall on Wendla, they go wide with recognition.

"Ah," he clears his dry throat, and tries again. "Hello! You must be Wendla. I'm Tom." Turning, he calls behind him. "Mark! She's here!"

A distant Hello! Be there in a moment! has Wendla trying to dig up a smile. Anna squeezes her arm, and Anna's father introduces himself to Tom, shaking his hand as running footsteps are heard, and Mark appears from the upstairs. He surprises Wendla by pulling her into a hug. By the time he pulls away, her smile is real.

"You're just in time for lunch," Tom says with a grin.

They are easy to get along with, that's for sure. Before they are halfway through their meal, which is some sort of deliciously good mutant quiche, Tom and Anna's father are already talking law, and Anna herself is laughing at some story Mark is telling them.

Wendla is giggling along, too, but her mind isn't completely here. Because she's really repeating one sentence over and over in her head.

Where is she where is she where is she.

Anna's dad wants to get back before her mom gets home from work, and Anna wipes at her eyes and swears she's going to be crying the whole ride home. Wendla promises to visit her next weekend, after a nod from Tom.

And now Anna is driving away, though Wendla can hardly see her waving through her misty eyes.

Mark shows her where her new room is, and they've set up a bed and a desk for her, and both men are smiling, arms around each other, waiting to see if she likes it. And Wendla wants to cry harder, because the room is purple. Her favorite color. She rarely sees this much of it- sheets, wallpaper, door- but it is oddly comforting. Surrounded by something you love.

And she wonders if purple is Rachel's favorite color, too.

Rachel's room is across the hall, and her door appears to have a giant golden star plastered on it.

What if they don't get along?

Because she can think of nothing else to do, because she can't think of anything else to say to Tom and Mark, because she wants to just crawl into bed, hide under the covers, and cry... she starts to unpack.

A while later, there is the sound of heels, click-clacking down the hallway. Wendla doesn't hear them. Not even when the heels stop, take a step backwards, and move cautiously to press against the door that she, Rachel Berry, had painted. Purple is a very nice color, but not as bright as pink. Rachel is a very pink name, but Wendla, Wendla seems more violet.

A knock. Wendla jumps, and turns around.

Wendla sees herself in a horse sweater, carting some strange pink rollercase. Her smile is very wide, but there is a hint of fear in her eyes.

Rachel sees herself in a baby doll dress, one that looks like it hasn't been ironed in a while. She sees that her cheeks are red with crying, something she's used to seeing. Her smile is gentle, very small, but there is real curiosity in her eyes.

"Hello." They both say at once. Rachel giggles, and Wendla joins in.

They do have the same voice.


	2. Le Freak

A/N: This story is much too fun. And the Spring Awakening boys will make their entrance next chapter, which is exciting. Well, I'm excited, at least.

I wonder how Hanschen and Kurt will get along? And I sense a new piano player in the Glee Club's future... any guesses as to who? :)

Thanks for reading!

* * *

Wendla keeps her head down as she maneuvers through the crowded halls of her new school. Her lips move softly, running through her classes and where they are located. Rachel swore that the classrooms were pretty well organized, and that they shouldn't be too hard to find, but Wendla was beginning to doubt if Rachel found anything hard, so that wasn't much help.

She wishes it was still the weekend. She could be sitting in her new room right now, all properly unpacked and arranged.

A new photo album sits on her dresser, too. She almost wishes she had brought it, but it would have just gotten wrecked. She has to blink rapidly to keep her eyes from watering. It was not a present she had been expecting to receive.

It was after dinner on her first day in the Berry household. Rachel chattered on excitedly to her dads about her day at school, and Wendla tried to listen in silence, pick up as much as she could. She would, after all, be attending that school on Monday. Tom had reminded her more than once that she didn't have to rush back to school right away, she could settle there first. But Wendla didn't want to take either of the men away from their jobs, and the thought of staying in the house with nothing but her thoughts and sick silence made her want to scream.

After Wendla had excused herself, she retreated to her room and begun to unpack. But it was not long before there was a loud wrap on the door, and Rachel stuck her head in. "May I intrude?"

Wendla smiled in spite of herself. It was still eerie, seeing her own face one such a different girl.

"Sure."

Rachel took a step into the room, closing the door with her foot. She had her hands hidden behind her back, and she looked both excited, and like she may throw up.

"I- made this for you. You see, I thought that you might want- I mean, you might want to know, about..." Wendla was surprised. You didn't have to know Rachel Berry well to know that she was hardly the person you would expect to be lost for words. She seemed to give up on talking entirely, as she pressed her lips together, and brought out what looked like a large, red, velvet-lined thing.

When she took it from Rachel, her eyes widened. There was a little square cut out of the cover, and in it was last year's school picture of her, and an unfamiliar school picture that must be of Rachel.

"Is this a-" Wendla, too, is at a loss.

"It's a scrapbook." Rachel has found her voice again, and she begins to speed through her reasoning as she leads Wendla over to the bed. "I thought you may want to know what my life has been like, since I was born. Because usually twins are there for those years, but we, obviously, didn't even know the other existed, which is so strange, like something right out of a movie. But I thought that if I made a book about me, you would know me better, and my dads, and maybe you could possibly feel at home here?" The last few words were a hasty addition to the speech, weaker and less sure than the rest. Truth be told, Wendla had heard hardly any of it. She had begun to flip through the pages, and each new picture, or report card, or caption, spawned another set of questions.

Does she find it all easy, or does she struggle for every A, like Wendla? Is her smile for the camera? Why did she dye her hair blonde in seventh grade? Is the gold star a recent addition, or has she always done it?

Something that was obvious, almost from page one, was Rachel's love for performance. Wendla felt warmth filling her chest. That appeared to be something they had very much in common.

"You like it, then?"

Wendla meant to say she likes it, really. But when she opened her mouth, no words came out.

It didn't seem like Rachel needed words. Without being asked, she begins to point out things about the pictures. Where they were taken, why it was important. Her fingers lingered on a shot of her and her dads in front of a Wicked poster, and when Rachel didn't say anything about that one, Wendla felt that she understood her new sister a little better.

It was a good opener to a quiet weekend. Wendla was surprised that Rachel had nowhere to be the whole weekend, though she did explain that she had a strict Myspace schedule that kept her very busy.

Wendla first heard her sing that night. She could hear Rachel's voice from her own room, and she stopped, cold, eyes wide. Carefully, she opened her own door, and pressed her ear to Rachel's golden star.

Her voice was strong, filling the room, bouncing around the hallway, and stretching Wendla's smile wide. Amazing. Her sister was amazing.

The door opened, and Wendla, off balance, fell right inside. Rachel grabbed her arm, righting her with a laugh.

"You can come in and listen, you know."

And when she couldn't sleep, later that night, Wendla plugged in her laptop and spent the night watching Rachel's videos.

The weekend felt easy, easier than it should have. Tom and Mark both worked Saturday, but Sunday everyone was home, Rachel doing her homework and chatting away about school tomorrow, as Wendla tried to remember names of teachers and locker numbers and instructions about what bathrooms to use. Rachel assured her she would be fine, but Wendla went to sleep with knots in her stomach.

And now she is here, trying to find her locker without looking too lost. She even went so far as to wear her lucky dress today, hidden under a light purple sweater. The dress is light and pure white, and her mom gave it to her for her last birthday. Coupled with high black socks, she always thought it makes her look like a faerie princess, not that she will ever admit this to anyone.

She is pulled out of her thoughts by a shout.

"Puck!"

Another voice, deeper and right in front of her. "Berry?" The voice makes an awkward, half choking noise. "Berries?"

Wendla looks up.

A muscular boy with his hair shaved into a mohawk is standing only a few feet away, holding a large cup in his hands, face twisted in confusion.

There is a tall body behind her, close enough to almost touch. And behind Puck is Rachel, eyes wide, the ghost of a smile passing her lips.

"Do you need assistance in finding a classroom, Wendla?"

Rachel's classic style of speech has Wendla almost giggling. She catches herself before she does, and tries not to notice that people are staring.

"Maybe. I'm afraid I might have missed it."

As Rachel passes the drink boy, his eyes follow her, shock still obvious on his face. Rachel snatches her schedule and scans it.

"Spanish with Mr. Scheuster. I believe Finn has that class next as well. Don't you, Finn?"

There is a shift in Rachel's voice here, and Wendla makes note of it as she follows Rachel's gaze to meet the eye of the very tall boy behind her.

He's cute, too. A blush rises on her cheeks. And he's giving her a weird look.

"Finn?" Rachel's voice is definitely even more heightened than usual. "This is Wendla. My twin." she adds, as an afterthought.

"Your... twin?" The bell rings, and Rachel is off before her friend Finn can say anything, her heels clacking loudly.

She's running away? Wendla thinks, with a small smile. Someone has a crush, perhaps. Really, she makes it as obvious as Thea.

Though that is not where she wants her thoughts to go. Instead, she looks up at the boy.

"Do you mind showing me to Spanish?"

"N-no. Of course not." With a last, bewildered glance at where Rachel had vanished, he begins to lead her down the hall.

Spanish is not Wendla's favorite class. She knows that the moment she steps through the dor. She's taken German the last three years, but they don't teach German here.

Finn didn't say much, only ask her, again, if she really is Rachel's twin. As soon as they are inside the classroom, Finn goes to sit next to a very pretty blonde, who looks up and gives Wendla a harsh glare.

This is the first time Wendla realizes that being a twin is difficult.

The teacher gives her an odd look too, as he wanders over. "Rachel, what are you-"

At the hurried shake of her head, he stops. "I'm Wendla Bergmann. I'm a new student?" Do they look so similar? Their features were identical, yes, but Rachel's hair is less curly than hers, and they dress nothing alike. Perhaps it will be easy telling them apart, once people get used to their classmate's new twin.

The teacher's face has stretched into an even more confused expression. "But, you are related to Rachel Berry, right?"

"She's my twin." This is a reaction she will get used to, she's sure. This double take, furrowed eyebrows and loose jaw. Astonishment and disbelief, all mixed into one.

To his credit, he seems to recover quickly. "Why don't you sit over here? Have you taken any Spanish before?" He must be able to tell by her expression. "Don't worry! I'm sure any of these people can help you get caught up. And if you're having any trouble, I'm available at lunch hours. I'm Mr. Schuester."

German last name for her Spanish teacher. How ironic.

She somehow manages to make it to all her classes on time, and none of them pose the challenge that she is sure Spanish will. Her day is filled with strange looks and double takes, almost bad enough for her to welcome the appointment with the guidance counselor during lunch.

The guidance counselor- Ms. Pillsbury?- is not at all what Wendla expected. For one, she has never seen a room this clean. She greets Wendla with a wide smile, but does not try to hug her, or even come close to touching her, which is a welcome changed from her last counselor.

"I understand that you are going through a very hard time, and add on to that a new school, a new family-" the lady sighs, and for a moment her eyes look far off. "My office is always open. If it is all becoming too much for you, you can come in any time you like." She ends the invitation with a bright smile, and Wendla smiles back. The lady is friendly, though she has used the hand sanitizer seven times in the ten or so minutes they have been talking.

Aside from the kind guidance counselor, she doesn't talk to anyone that day. There are whispers following her, which she does her best to ignore, and she almost grabs pen and paper and writes 'Rachel Berry's Twin' in large letters, but she thinks that may be a little silly. And she would have no idea where to find tape to stick it to her back.

She misses her friends. Anna would be in art right now. Alone, after her moving and Ilse running away. Poor Anna.

She does have a few minutes of panic when she remembers that Rachel mentioned some sort of practice after school, but didn't say where. She checks the football field first, only because she has no idea where else to look.

Almost back at her locker, her Spanish teacher sticks his head out of a door in front of her. When he sees her, he smiles, and pulls his head back inside.

"She's right here, Rachel."

The sound of someone rushing to the door, and then it swings open to reveal her sister, her signature grin in place.

"Wendla! Sorry, I remembered I had forgotten to tell you we were in the music room today!"

"It's okay." Wendla adds the music room to the mental map she's been trying to add to all day. She doesn't think it is helping much. "I can just-"

Rachel has already grabbed her wrist and dragged her into the room.

Every head in the room turns to stare at her, and Wendla, panicking, tries to just look at Rachel, as her sister pulls her towards the group of students huddled in the middle of the room.

"Wendla, this is the Glee Club! Glee Club, Wendla!"

They are quite a crew, Wendla can't help but think. One of the boys she thinks she recognizes from her math class. She remembered his outfit fit perfectly together, every fold and strand of hair seemingly in place. Aside from him, there is a boy in a wheelchair, a girl with timid eyes that gave her a shy smile from behind her blue-streaked hair, and an intimidating black girl who was currently rolling her eyes in Rachel's direction.

The cute boy from this morning is here as well, looking even larger in his shoulder pads and football uniform.

Mr. Schuester walks towards them, shuffling a bunch of papers in his hand. "Alright, guys, we'd better get started!"

"I can go, then." Wendla turns to leave, but Rachel still hasn't let go of her arm.

"Actually, we are in need of some more members." There is a bright hope in Rachel's eyes, and that determination that Wendla knows, instinctively, to be weary of.

Mr. Schuester is smiling at her, and her stomach knots.. "How do you feel about singing, Wendla?"


	3. Smile

Hello. Yes, I am alive, and no, I will not give you any excuses for why this took so long. ;; This is a shorter chapter than the last, mostly to just get me moving forward again. You'll get to see some new characters! I hope you like how I've fit them into the story. In fact, I hope you like all of it. Yeah.

Anyway, this chapter is dedicated to all the reviews I kept getting, even after months of the second chapter going up, all encouraging me to continue. But it goes out especially to Chalcedony Rivers, whose kind words were really what pushed me to continue this. I hope this day is going better than the last time I talked to you, hun.

* * *

While Wendla stands, frozen in the music room, Ernst holds his breath and tries not to move.

He's chosen to hide in the boy's change room. Which is probably not the best choice, him crouched in a stall, wincing every time he hears footsteps.

He's only been here a week, and already it's as bad as the last school. Worse, because apparently he made eyes at the wrong boy on his first day, and most of the student body seems to have already decided he's a queer.

It's an hour after classes were let out, but he was met outside of his last class with a hard elbow to his eye, and raucous laughter.

And perhaps there had been better options than to push past the two muscular baboons, blinking back tears. Somehow, someone's books ended up on the ground, pushed by a fleeing body. There was an angry shout, and Ernst was off and running, heart in his throat as he listened to the heavy footsteps following close behind him.

They ran right by the change room door, but Ernst is sure he heard their voices pass by more than once.

It's been twenty minutes since he's heard them, and he is about to venture out of his stall when the door opens, and he freezes.

He is so screwed. His breath catches in his throat.

A boy he doesn't recognize walks in, already wearing his shoulder pads and jersey. One of the football players. Ernst's heart sinks. This is not the group he wants to run into.

Perhaps, if he acts as if he is just leaving, he'll be left to himself. He still has to go and grab his bag from his locker, but there was a door near there, one he can sneak out of and begin the walk home.

The boy's eyes widen as he spots Ernst's blooming black eye, but Ernst scurries past, hoping he's not stopped.

He isn't. A sigh of relief escapes his lips as he passes through the door. A few more football players are coming his way, but he walks further down the hall, and none of them notice him.

Ernst is almost at his locker when someone clears their throat behind him. He jumps, and turns around with his books raised over his face.

Nothing happens.

The books are lowered, and Ernst blushes.

The boy standing in front of him is cute. Cute is much more intimidating than handsome, especially in this case. Though he would be cuter if he smiled... Luckily for Ernst, he doesn't look like he smiles often.

The boy's eyes widen as he takes in the black eye and Ernst's terrified expression. Almost unconsiously, he takes a step back, arms crossed over his chest. He seems to have forgotten why he stopped the boy in the first place.

"You're new."

Ernst nods, biting his lips nervously. "Y-yes?"

"You're not sure you're new?" He looks behind his shoulder, eyes scanning the empty hallway. "Let me guess. The football team."

Ernst shrugs, trying to tug at his shirt and stand up straight, but knowing it will do nothing to change the air of helpless vulnerability that always succeeds in following him around. "I don't know..."

The boy's stare is bringing an uncomfortable heat to his cheeks, and he hugs his books closer to his chest, wishing that running away from an awkward situation was more socially acceptable.

"...do you sing?"

"Wh-what?" Thrown off by this, Ernst stared too long at the boy's pretty face, before looking away again, mentally chiding himself. First nice person to talk to him equals not the person to crush on. Or admire from a distance, or anything of the sort. "S-sing? Not really..." Not in front of people, that was for sure. "Why?"

The boy shrugs, and surely Ernst is imagining the disappointment that appears in his eyes for a second. "Glee club. New members, all that jazz."

All that jazz. Ernst giggles before he even realizes it might not be a joke, and his shoulders tense, ready to run or be hit or at least be shot down by a harsh glare. But instead, the boy's eyes widen, and he quickly turns away, though not before Ernst catches the sparkle of a small smile. Something like the first rays of a summer sun tickle his chest, and he summons his courage and doesn't try to hide his shy grin. It's still on his face when the boy turns back around, eyes catching Ernst's own.

There's an odd sort of fear in his eyes, but Ernst doesn't even notice it, because it looks so much like how his eyes do, and this look is too familiar to even register as abnormal in Ernst's eyes.

"I'm Kurt. Hummel." A pause. Every line of this boy- and they are all flat, straight, perfectly ironed and worn lines- is perfectly straight. Tense. "And you are?"

Ernst's eyes widen, and he can't help but stumble over his words in his hurry to get them out. "E-ernst... Ernst Robel! I just got here a week ago..." Swallow, lick of lips, wish his throat wasn't so dry. "Nice... nice to meet you, Kurt."

And Kurt nods, looking a little more than stunned as he takes in the details of how Ernst's eyes light up when he forgets to be nervous. "Nice... To meet you, too."

He turns around quickly, and once more he walks away. Ernst watches him go, sad to see that he's moving fast to get away from their stumbling meeting. A little hurt.

And the figure that stands around the corner from the two boys raises a confused eyebrow, mouth in a blank line. That was... Telling, he thinks. He imprints the two voices in his mind, the proud, annoying one that he's heard in the halls once or twice before, and the soft, almost puzzled tone, the one that was new. Ernst Robel, Kurt Hummel. Two names to put faces to, as soon as possible. In fact...

Smoothing the non-existent wrinkles out of his immaculate shirt, he rounds the corner and takes in this boy. He is small, but taller than he expected, not quite the meek picture he is expecting. The boy isn't facing him, so he reaches out and taps one bony shoulder.

"Hello."

The boy flinches hard enough to make his approach worth it, even if nothing else goes his way. And he very much doubts that. He refrains from letting a large, self-satisfied smile spread across his lips. Gloating before winning is... In bad taste.

When the boy, Ernst, turns, he slowly takes in the details of his delicate face without bothering to disguise his actions. And the fact that this Ernst shifts under his gaze, eyes wide and screaming naiveté, makes it all the more satisfying.

"Hello," he says again.

This seems to snap Ernst out of his shock.

"...hello." He looks so thrown, and Hanschen knows, as clear as if he were wearing a sign, that this boy is going to be his next game.

How exciting.

He needs something to take the edge off of his AP classes, anyway.

"You're new?"

A nervous but earnest nod.

Hanschen clears his throat and puts on his best ice smile. No warmth, just cold calculating.

"I'm your student council-ordaned guide. Welcome to McKinnley High." He sticks out a hand, and as the boy takes it, gives a firm pump, but let's his grip linger a few moments longer than would be typical. The resulting blush makes his crocodile grin grow. "I'm Hanschen Rilow."

_...oh, you're gonna be wounded..._

* * *

This could so not be happening to him.

"You're... Excuse me?"

Principal Figgins rubbed at his forehead, and thought longingly of the advil in his top drawer.

"Look, George..."

"Ah, it's Georg, sir." The correction is a reflex. Not that it seems to help.

"...yes. Well, we simply cannot afford to transport the piano to concerts anymore! If you were to move to a portable keyboard, say, I'm sure the jazz club would be happy to have your talent-"

He bristles, and feels his back go ramrod straight. It is proper recital posture. It is fighting posture. Keyboard? Not a chance.

But Georg doesn't quite know how to fight, just yet. "Mr. Figgins, please-"

He's already shaking his head. "My decision is final! Although, if you really are desperate, the Glee Club may be in need of a new pianist-"

The Glee Club? The lowest of the low, but he doesn't really care. He's tried to avoid all of that, as much as a band geek who plays no sports can. And anything is better than simply not playing. So he stands up, an excited glimmer behind his (often ridiculed) glasses. Already, he is thinking of melodies and riffs and blending his soft notes with beautiful voices...

"The Glee Club? Thank you, Mr. Figgins! Thanks!"

The principal watches the boy tuck his folder underneath his arm, and mentally deducts the cost of New Direction's pianist from the budget. He leaves for lunch whistling.

Georg spends his lunch outside the staff lunch room, sheet music folder held tight to his chest. He is breathing slowly to calm down, though the nerves are familiar ones, almost comfortablly so. This won't be any different from all of the performances he's done before.

...right?

He knows Mr. Schuester by sight, though never really having talked to the man. But you'd have to be deaf, blind, and dumb not to know that he had taken over Glee Club. Even Brittney knew.

So Georg waits, pushing his glasses up his nose every once in a while, just to have something to do with his hands. Th bell rings five minutes before afternoon classes are set to start, but Georg stands his ground. He can afford to be late... And he needs to play. Needs to.

"Mr., ah, Schuester?"

The man turns around, obviously not expecting to be hailed as soon as he exited the break room.

"Yes?"

Georg straightens his shoulders. Recital posture. Always. It gives you a strong base, says his teacher. "I was wondering if perhaps the Glee Club needed a new pianist."

Mr. Schuester doesn't have too much time to debate the idea. Instead, he just nods, and points at Georg. "After school!" He's walking backwards so as to still face the inquiring boy. "Music room! Trial run!"

And then he's gone and Georg bites back the huge grin that threatens to split his face in two. He gets to play. Life is good.


End file.
